


Untitled

by maryfic



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Episode Related, Episode s05e11 Damage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryfic/pseuds/maryfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel's guilt is what almost gets Spike killed. Or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Angel’s gut twists into an icy knot when Andrew breaches the conference room, clearly injured, but he only hears, “She’s got him, she’s got Spike,” and he is out the door. Forgetting who and what he is, what he is supposed to be playing at as the head of Wolfram and Hart. 

All he knows is that Spike is in trouble, taken by a damaged Slayer who will not hesitate to put a stake through him. And while Angel would love to put a stake through that peroxided head himself, deep down he knows he isn’t ready to let it go, to let his childe, his knight of hell, his Will, leave permanently from this earth. 

It takes an interminable amount of time once he sees Spike there, on the floor, chained and fuck his hands, where in the name of god are his hands about to lose that head of his for the last time. 

Time runs even slower as he barks out orders to the tactical team, getting Spike into an ambulance, Fred calm and collected as always, but the look on her face says she is holding on to that hard-won sanity with a struggle, dying inside as the bus takes Spike away. It doesn’t matter that Angel has things to do, it only matters that once again, he has let someone down, let Spike down, and now he has to go be the CEO again and deal with the hassle that is Andrew and his pack of Slayers. 

But once that is finished, he is gone to a darkened doorway and the thick wad of guilt in his throat, burning acid in his gut, and Spike, helpless in a hospital bed. 

The words don’t matter, they’ve never mattered. Angel barely discerns the pain in the obligatory banter between them. And for the first time, truly, since that terrible night in a gypsy camp, Angel knows what blame really is. And he’s not the one getting it. Spike is holding the pot now, and all the cards, and all he can do is peel the coat off and walk over to the bed, sit beside the the other vampire, and stroke the feeling back into first one hand, then the other. 

He feeds Spike blood from a private supply no one but Fred knows about - pure, virginal, sweet. It is the best he can do, kissing the spilled drops away from lips that are still numb with the cocktail of drugs Dana poisoned his boy with. 

He doesn’t move all night, except once, his free hand, to press the button to lower and lock the shades down - the room isn’t exactly on the sun’s track, but better safe than sorry, and by the time dawn breaks, he’s in the bed, and Spike is turned into him, tucked and protected by the larger man, and dreaming of when they both could be monsters without leashes. 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from callsigntheslayer, h/c, Spangel, post-Damage. 
> 
> Have a prompt for me? http://maryfic.tumblr.com/ask


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